


Kneel and pray

by maschoi (zaynandlouis)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, idk which one it is lol
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Facials, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, but the kind that makes ur stomach hurt in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25520020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaynandlouis/pseuds/maschoi
Summary: it's funny. it always is, but armie’s learned not to laugh. it just creates more work for him, deepens the sadness in timothée's eyes to a point that rectifying requires more effort from armie than he's willing to give these days.re-write/post, different pairing ver.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Kneel and pray

**Author's Note:**

> [Prison - PRBLMS](https://open.spotify.com/track/5ZhyPYSyaAZuKF0uQzzTdF?si=d09yQos6SkCRpBIDB0ndMA) | I’d rather sleep on the street than with you, baby. 
> 
> this is a re-write/post of a changkyun/kihyun fic i’ve published under the title Crown bc it’s what lexi wants. i wrote this prior to armie, the dumb dog, straying, and i would just like to volunteer if elizabeth needs someone new to take her strap. 
> 
> pls enjoy and lemme know what u think :]

"what are you doing?" timonthée asks, voice hushed and eyes wide. 

armie looks at him blankly. he pulls his gym shorts down below his ass, letting the band catch on his thighs. 

he's been patient. he's ignored the eyes burning into his back during dance practices, tolerated their gym schedules overlapping too often to be coincidental. 

it's becoming bothersome, though, and if he's honest, armie doesn't like to think about timothée as much as it's all causing him to. he'd rather let him have what he needs and be done with it.

he pulls his dick out of his underwear, watching timothée drop to his knees and dumbly open his mouth for it. 

it takes a while for timothée to get him hard, but he works hard for it. he's always so eager. armie swallows down a chuckle. he lets a groan vibrate up his throat instead. 

it's funny. it always is, but armie’s learned not to laugh. it just creates more work for him, deepens the sadness in timothée’s eyes to a point that rectifying requires more effort from armie than he's willing to give these days.

it's easy, timothée’s so easy, so why complicate things? if they were hard, armie wouldn't be here. he wouldn't give in to timothée’s needs if it meant more than giving him a dick down his throat. 

timothée’s nose is brushing against the base now, and armie wonders if he even notices that he hasn't trimmed lately. he'd never let elizabeth blow him without proper grooming, but he knows timothée doesn't care. it wouldn't really matter if he did, anyways. 

he's looking at his own pubes, but timothée must think he's looking at him, because he lets out a pathetic whine. 

armie makes eye contact and smiles. a singular tear is sliding down timothée’s flushed cheeks, eyes full of more. if armie has to look at him, he wants a show. 

the hand he had resting on the back of timothée’s head grabs onto the younger boy’s hair. it’s greasy. he makes a mental note to wash his hands when they finish.

timothée chokes a little at the first thrust. he swallows, tongue feeling thick as he tries his best to flatten it out. he closes his eyes so armie won't have to watch them roll back, but he can't help his legs spreading wider. his knees hurt, pressed impossibly hard into the hard concrete below them, but it's nothing compared to the pain of armie’s hand in his hair. 

it's like he can feel every individual strand pulling away from his scalp. a shiver runs down his back. he rolls his shoulders. 

timothée thinks of elizabeth every time his knees hit the ground in front of armie’s feet. it's sick, but this whole thing is, really. he’s a sick puppy, and he wants every metaphorical, and literal, kick armie gives him to be harder. 

armie’s not the biggest, but he's thick. by timothée’s experience, he's thicker than average, and twice as rough as anyone else timothée’s ever let in his mouth. 

he knows it's coming, but he still feels his stomach knot up when the corners of his mouth burn. 

an image of them ripping, tearing up into some sick, porno joker smile flashes behind his eyelids. he's seen it before, some other time armie’s let him get on his knees for him, some other time he needed it to be worse than armie already makes it. this time, he thinks about blood mixing with the drool that's already leaking from his mouth. his shirt's on, because that's another rule that he's never been explicitly told but still knows, and he wonders how the blood would seeping in to the sweaty fabric. 

he wonders if elizabeth would see it in the laundry if some of the blood got on armie’s shorts. 

armie pulls him back to reality with a smack on the cheek. it's not to ground him, armie doesn't know where timothée goes, he doesn't care. he's never told timothée that he doesn't care, but he's never asked, and timothée knows him well enough to know if he wanted to know, he would. 

the smack is just his way of telling timothée he's close. it used to be a slap. it used to echo when they'd do this in the set trailer. timothée misses those hand prints. he liked the way people looked at him when he didn't cover them up, so he stopped putting makeup over them. armie stopped giving them to him in return. 

now, timothée knows his place. he knows to take what's given to him and be grateful for it. armie has made it clear that he owes timothée none of this. he's made it clear he doesn't need this, doesn't need timothée, and if anything about their arrangement inconveniences him even the smallest bit, it will come to an end. 

an annoyed grunt reminds timothée he's already been warned that armie is close. he chokes a bit, hurrying to bring a hand to replace his mouth as he pulls back. 

he's too late, had let his mind wander for too long, because armie smacks his hand away. timothée whines and looks up. armie’s nostrils are flared, jaw clenched. he looks scary. timothée sets his shoulders back, arms behind his back, chin tipped up.

he watches, panting, eyes zeroing in on armie’s hand. the tears and sweat in timothée’s eyes make it hard to focus them, but he can tell the movement is jerky, almost desperate. the thought of armie desperate makes his stomach roll and he lets his tongue lull out. 

the taste of precum when armie smears the head of his dick on his tongue makes timothée salivate. drool is running out around his tongue, his chin soaking wet. 

a few more stokes of himself and armie lets out a growl, deep and guttural like he's been holding it in. timothée keeps his eyes open, staring at armie’s as best he can. he wants to see it, to see the pleasure he's caused. he feels it, hitting his tongue and cheek and nose. 

he makes sure armie’s still looking at him and swallows. 

armie laughs, but he's a little breathless. he taps his head on timothée’s tongue, smearing it over his puffy lips. he swears when timothée leans forward, trying to lick. 

he takes a step back, waiting for his heart beat to slow down. when it does, he walks over to the sinks. wet, lather, rinse. he looks in the mirror and breathes out hard through his nose, watches himself tuck his softening dick back in his underwear, pulling the band of his shorts back up to his hips. 

he turns back to timothée and sighs.

timothée’s still on his knees, hands still behind his back. he's making figure eights with his hips in a way armie recognizes as desperation. armie notices the tent in the front of his shorts for the first time. he wonders how bad the bruises on his knees will be. 

a sound like a pained, injured puppy coming from timothée makes armie look back up at his face. it's covered in his cum still. he'd almost think it was pretty if annoyance wasn't itching it's way under his skin at the pleading eyes staring back at him. 

armie smiles for the second time since he cornered timothée, this one smeared with pity. "save you for another day, yeah?" 

timothée watches as armie turns away from him, walking out of the locker room without having to unlock the door. his blood runs cold. 

**Author's Note:**

> [come talk to me on twit](https://twitter.com/1percentis)


End file.
